Welcome to Motor City Burning: World of Darkness online role playing game. Due to the graphic, predatory nature of the violence and adult activities Kindred, Hunters, and the Created take part in, we require all players to be 18 years of age or older. If you are at least 18 and would like to play with us, hit the "Register" key and come on in!

Liam is directed to a shop by his contact, a curio shop. His contact insists that this man is the one to go to for odd, occult things.He's new to town, but really seems to know his stuff. Just... don't touch anything." Kyle insists. "And be specific."

With those last words in his head, Liam reaches the shop. Glancing in, he can see the form of a man moving in the front room through the window. Show time.

In the interior room of the shop, a call comes through."Hey," The voice on the other end identifies himself as 'Kyle', a customer who had placed a reasonable order last week. One of your first customers."Wanted to let you know that I shot a guy the address of your shop. Seems he's gotten into it with some clawed, fast like a freak thing. He should be coming your way and he'll be hard to miss. Guys a freakin' red headed Jolly Green Giant."

Alastor internally grimaced at the idea of it being his shop. It wasn't, of course, but it was a nice way of dissociating his more unusual business from his steady and honest job as a Professor. He inclined his head into the cellphone, leafing through a book on his lap. The yellow, flaking pages had an odd scent around them, almost leathery. The writing was a faded brown colour, and the language was an incomprehensible amount of scribbles.

"Thank you, Kyle. I'll keep an eye out for him. I'm sure he'll be... ah... difficult to miss, as you say," Alastor said, his voice cool and distant. The telephone made him uncomfortable. His distance from humanity was a perpetual struggle, and his inability to see the speaker's face only compounded the issue. He had no desire to continue the conversation, and hung up the telephone without saying goodbye.

Absently, as he waited, he locked his blue-eyed gaze on the book and muttered aloud as he read. The words he spoke were strange, seeming to have no form that human lips could contain, a strange, gutteral, almost draconic language.

Having recieved a short email from Liam, to let her know that some personal business had arisen, Sara found her schedule getting that little bit bigger. She had the contact information for the occultist, and the time she was supposed to meet him at his curio shop - it was just a pity she was going to be slightly late. She had opened the email only fifteen minutes before, mid-way through making breakfast. The meeting was supposed to be in half an hour. Shot of discovering she actually had time-bending powers, there wasn't a chance in Hell she would make it.

After wolfing down her usual round of morning pop tarts, Sara jogged out of the door to her car. As it was, she arrived sooner than expected; still late but not horrifically so.

Sara paused outside, studying the shop. It looked...quaint, was the word that came to mind. It was the sort of shop she imagined would be located in a foreign village, with a friendly, grandfatherly old man as the shop keeper. He'd offer tea and biscuits, and converse about the good old days.

She fucking hated tea.

After stuffing the hastily scribbled address into her pocket, after ensuring that this was the correct place, Sara moved up the small path and stepped inside. A bell jingled.

Fucking quaint.

Alastor looked up from his book, the strange, gutteral language issuing from his lips stopping as he heard the bell. He gently closed the book and laid it down on the counter, privately being very thankful that Alfred was out.

He stepped forwards from the chair next to the counter, since there was no way this was a shopper. Actually, come to think of it, Alfred's curio shop didn't have an awful lot of browsers, so exactly how the old man ever sold anything was something of a mystery to Alastor. He must do though. Items definitely vanished off the shelves, and there was usually money in the till.

Sara had already begun to extend a hand in greeting, but as Alastor spoke she paused and the hand dropped back to her side. "Unexpected customers don't get a greeting?" she questioned, only mildly curious as she peered around the unfamiliar - and frankly extraordinarily bizarre shop floor. It did not resemble anything she had seen before. Somehow, it felt as though she had jumped through time.

"I'm here to meet- actually, I don't have his name. I'm here in place of an acquaintance."

Alastor paused. "Ah. I was expecting Liam," he explained. "You don't look like a Liam to me." He sat down behind the counter. "My name's Alastor Grimm." He smiled, in an attempt to be disarming, but it came off cold, as unexpected social encounters always did.

Despite herself, Sara smirked slightly. Alastor had no idea of course, but apart from the obvious gender difference, she and Liam were really quite different. "Unsurprisingly, that doesn't usually come up in conversation."

She stepped away from the door, to keep from blocking any potential customers. "Sara," she introduced simply. If she noticed the apparent coolness of his attitude, Sara refrained from commenting. Then again, she was pretty damned aloof too. "What did Liam tell you?"

"Nothing, actually. I heard of him from a friend of a friend. Apparently you have a problem," Alastor said, sitting down. His youthful, 20 year old face didn't match his eyes, which were intense and wary.

Sara gave a brisk nod. "A former problem, which may be a future problem too. Not sure yet," she remarked. She ceased her scan of the room, content that no one else was around, and returned her point of focus to Alastor.

"I'm here about a Cherokee legend," Sara began, as she leant against the counter. It looked like the only new thing in there. She was actually kind of wary about breaking something; the objects, books, vases all looked expensive. "An old lady who gets really happy when she gets to steal a liver."

She studied him carefully, eyes narrowed in concentration.

"An old lady who gets really happy when she steals livers..." Alastor said, his eyes half-closing for a moment as he thought. "Ah, yes... yes, I remember," the man pulled out a book from under the counter, leafing through it. It's not written in a language that makes much sense, and the words seem to skitter across the page. He turns the book around and points at a crude drawing of a ragged old woman. "Is this her?"

Sara took another step forward, leaning on the counter as she peered over at the book. She almost took a step right back again, as she viewed the words moving around - words didn't do that. Not in her experience at least.

"Yeah. That looks like her... you want t'tell me how you're getting the book to do that?" Sara questioned sternly. She folded her arms on the counter, but a bandaged hand had half-slipped beneath the sleeve of her coat.

Alastor blinked at her owlishly, and turned the book around. He seemed to frown at it.

"Sorry. It can give some people a headache the first time they read it. You don't have any allergies, do you?"

"Apart from an allergy to bullshit, no," Sara offered a quick smile. "Now I'm probably not as learned as yourself, but you don't need to be Grade A genuis to know that words don't dance the Tango across a page." Despite the apparent joviality in her tone, she was tense, teeth gritting.

He seemed real helpful, and she didn't want to kill anyone for setting up a fucking trap.

Alastor glanced down at the page, and then at Sara. His lips moved for a moment, and he looked a little bit amused.

"They're not moving," he said. "They're just not written in a human language. It can make people feel a bit odd the first time they see it. It's a very old book... Anyway. This is Grandmother Death, or Utlunta in Cherokee. She's also called Spearfinger."

"Charming lady," Sara snorted, with a quick shake of her head. She definitely had the 'Spearfinger' portion down. The attack had been...close. Uncomfortably so. Sara rubbed her eyes, a tad wearily, with her free hand. "Does it say anything about her preferred hunting ground?"

"No... she's nomadic, moves from place to place," Alastor said thoughtfully, leafing through the pages. "Has someone you know been attacked by her?"

Slowly, Sara nodded. "Yeah. One of 'em touched her, burnt her hand; the other got slashed. I dealt her some damage and she didin't get a hit on me."

It was a logical question, Sara pondered. And one she would have assumed herself, only a short time ago - before all the madness happened. "No. He just...touched her. He touched her and she sizzled."

Alastor made a little 'hmm' noise under his breath. "I don't believe she has any weakness to being touched, but... tell me about your friend," he paused. "And I suggest you get your slashed friend to a hospital."

"He's already been warned. Whether he remembers and goes, is a completely separate matter," Sara snorted in a derisive sort of way. "And...I can't tell you about my friend. I'm...sorry, but you have a little information. That's it," she stated cautiously. She was quite obviously still somewhat tense, anxious beneath it.

It looked as though she was trying damned hard not to be impolite. At least Donahue had helped a little bit.

"Well, there are a variety of reasons a person might be able to do that sort of thing," Alastor said, his cool voice thoughtful. "He might be a witch, or other supernatural being. He could have access to certain tools that he hasn't shared with you. He could be the product of an unusual birth. He might have an exceptional faith. Really, without more information, I can't tell you."

Sara listened intently as Alastor reeled off the list of things that may have afflicted Joshua; she waited for one that sounded likely. Exceptional faith, eh? Sara offered a curt nod. "Helpful, I'll...let him know," she responded, without cluing him in on which had piqued her interest so.

"I think that between the two of us we killed it. Do you think it'll stay dead?" Sara questioned. It was the questioned that had been stirring in her mind since the attack. "After she went down some...shadow thing appeared and took on her form, too." It had genuinely been one of the creepier things she had experienced.

"It's hard to be sure with spirits," Alastor said thoughtfully. "The best answer I can give you is 'probably'. But if not, she won't be able to return for a very long time." He looked musing at the next comment. "That's not usual, either. But there are a great many creatures which can change their faces. It could be anything... I'd need more information than that to identify it."

Sara nodded, keeping the information that she had gleaned and storing it away for future reference. She hoped that they wouldn't need it, to use it at a later date - but her gut suggested otherwise. "I'm afraid I don't have any more information than that. But if we run into her again, keep a car handy." She was mostly joking. Mostly.

Alastor handed her a business card, with a very slight nod. "If you need to get in touch, that's my number. I hope the information was helpful to you."

"It was," Sara smiled politely, and slipped the card into her back pocket. "I'll probably be in touch." She headed to the door, with a quick wave to the occultist.

Alastor nodded to her. She struck him as an odd, but purposeful woman, and he'd seen that type before. It screamed 'Hunter'.